You know what?
Yup. I said it.
I hate them. Always have, always will. What kind of a label is “date” anyway? Isn’t that a fruit? I’m sorry, but me and my handsome friend here have much more important things to talk about that some smelly old overgrown lumpy-seeds.
Dates are so fucking overrated. The word is sort of like “diet”. Mention it and I break out in nervous hives. Why do we put so much pressure on ourselves? So what, so you want to go out with a new man, have some dinner, maybe a nice bottle of wine, maybe do some dancing, maybe strip naked and do the backseat mambo, so what? Do we really have to label it? Why don’t we shuck the labels, much like he shucked his Calvin Kleins when I nearly ripped them in two?
So this is supposed to be “paranormal dating?” Okay, fine, I can work with that. It’s parally un-normal how fast we went from gnoshing on fried cheese in a TGI Fridays to me frantically begging for another lash from his whip-like tail. So what? Some girls like it rough.
Maybe he’s a demon. Well, maybe I’m a girl who happens to like that. So maybe he has horns. Well, I’m horn-y, so if the thigh-high boots fit, strap those fuckers on.
There is a time and a place for polite conversation and getting-to-know-yous. And then again, there’s a time when you just want to ravish the shit out of delicious otherwordly being.
And that time, ladies?
Is on your first “date” with a demon.
*drops the mic*
Posted on November 2, 2012, in Regina Cole and tagged backseat mambo, dates, dating, demon, dinner, erotic romance, funny, naked, paranormal dating, paranormal romance, restaurant, sex. Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.